


Hannibal Tumblr Ficlets

by coloredink



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, First Time, Friendship, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Male Friendship, Marriage, Missing Scene, Multi, Murder Husbands, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 17,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've started filling prompts over on my tumblr, and I thought I should probably collect them all in one place.</p><p>Spoilers all over the place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But He Wrote Letters (Hannibloom, sort of; Alana POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, technically, not a prompt; it was a piece of headcanon that I doubted I'd ever be able to shoehorn into a fic, so I [posted it to tumblr.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/96505039027/i-will-probably-never-be-able-to-shoehorn-this)

Alana was not a nosy person, per se, but then, one did not go into psychiatry without having a little bit of curiosity about other people's minds, and this lent itself to a curiosity about their homes, their books, their music collections, the pieces of paper they left lying around.

She came across this particular piece of paper on Hannibal's desk in his home office. He was not an untidy person by any stretch of the imagination, and so it was unusual to see a card shoved off to one corner like this. It was white, with a gold border, and read Get Well Soon on the front in curly gold lettering. Alana flattened it against the desk with one hand to read the interior.

 _Dear Mary_ , it began, in Hannibal's impeccable calligraphy, _I hope you feel better soon and will be able to return to school. You_

It stopped there. Alana was still bent over it when Hannibal returned bearing the book that he'd been talking about just a few minutes before. He paused in mid sentence.

"Sorry," she said, a little sheepish, though she wasn't sorry at all. "What's this?"

"Nothing much." Hannibal set the book down on the desk and slid it toward Alana. "I wrote a few cards to some of the patients in the oncology ward at the children's hospital."

"Oh." Alana tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at Hannibal, who smiled back, a little distantly. "That's sweet."

Later, as she fell from a window, as she lay gasping in pain in Hannibal's driveway as rain poured from the heavens, this memory would play over and over through her head: _but he wrote letters to children with cancer._


	2. Will Plays the Piano (Pianist AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ["Ever consider doing a pianist!Will AU?"](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/128288467322/ever-consider-doing-a-pianistwill-au)

The music was playing again.

Hannibal paused with pencil hovering just above the paper.

He was fairly certain it was coming from Mrs. Ikeda’s unit. She was in Paris, visiting her daughter and new grandchild, and planned to stay there through New Year’s. She’d told Hannibal that there would be a renter in her unit: “A student at George Washington University. He said he used to be a police officer.” She hadn’t mentioned that he knew how to play.

Correction: he did not know how to play. He struck one wrong note for every six correct ones, and so far Hannibal had not heard anything more complex than Beethoven’s _Moonlight Sonata_ or Debussy’s _Claire de Lune_. But though he stuttered through each piece, he always finished, and did so without obnoxious repetition. Not a piano student, then: merely someone who was bored.

Well. Hannibal could sympathize. He set down his pencil, opened his window wider, and sat down at his piano. Hannibal played a series of warm-up scales and launched into Chopin’s _Revolutionary Etude_. The upstairs piano stopped.

After a minute, Hannibal heard the sound of the upstairs window either being pushed up or pushed down. He had his answer a moment later, when a young man’s voice called down, “You know, if it was bothering you, you could just say so.”

Hannibal paused the music to call up, “On the contrary: I was making a request.”


	3. Hannibal Plays the Piano (Pianist AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your Hannibal piano AU is lovely - an amazing story, without any gore, but still being quite in character. I love the interaction between the two of them. It's so much content put into so few words, I'm impressed. [I'd love to see a continuation, if you feel like it, but want to tell you how great the story is all on its own.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/128309550447/your-hannibal-piano-au-is-lovely-an-amazing) Thank you for sharing. <3"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a continuation, but a role reversal based on a prompt I'd seen reblogged on tumblr.

The osso buco was in the oven, and there was little more to do than wait for the alchemy of fire and flesh to take its course. Hannibal swiped the sweat from his brow with his thumb, washed his hands, and dried them on his apron. The meat would take at least two hours. He would find something to occupy his time.

The baby grand piano took up almost the entire living room of his little condo, fighting for territory from the oversized dining table and its heavy wooden chairs. Hannibal eased onto the bench, decided he was in the mood for Rachmaninoff today, and began the first low, bell-like notes of the Piano Concerto no. 2. The swell of violins joined him in his mind, and Hannibal was transported with the longing horns and the sweetness of the oboes to Rachmaninoff’s great sadness.

Evening had fallen by the time Hannibal brought the concerto to an end. He got up to check the osso buco. As Hannibal replaced the lid, he heard a rustle near the front door. He picked up a knife and went to see what that was about and found a little piece of lined paper tucked under his door. It looked as if it had been torn from a notepad. Written on it, in a rugged, inelegant scrawl:

_Hello,_

_I really like your music. Do you take requests? I often have trouble sleeping, and I wonder if you know anything that would help._

_Thanks,_

_Will_

_P.S. Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing._

Hannibal stared at the note for a long time. Somewhere in the back of his memory palace, a little voice echoed: _Brother, I can’t sleep. Won’t you play something for me?_

His hand tightened around the note. Hannibal crushed it into his pocket and returned to the piano. He sat there for a moment and began to play: easy, recognizable, banal pieces, Beethoven’s _Für Elise_ and the _Moonlight Sonata_ ; Debussy’s _Claire de Lune_.

Hannibal let his fingers linger on the ending notes of Satie’s _Gymnopédie No. 1_. He listened, though for what he didn’t know; all he heard was the beat of his heart, the hum of the refrigerator, the quiet tick of the oven adjusting the temperature. Hannibal rose and padded into the kitchen. The osso buco needed another hour. Hannibal decided to read for the rest of the evening. There were no more notes pressed under the door.

Until the next morning.

_Thanks._


	4. Verger Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you take prompts? Would you write something with Alana maybe watching her kid play with other kids when suddenly one of them scrapes their knee and cries and Alana and Margot's son wipes the tears from the kids face but is eerily transfixed ? (I'm just always so surprised she didn't get a surrogate to use Masons sperm cuts and I've been thinking what If the kid was the ["Verger Baby" Mason envisioned?)](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/128340777182/do-you-take-prompts-would-you-write-something)

Alana didn’t think anything of it when a little girl fell off the monkey bars and cried, and Christopher ran over with a handkerchief crushed in his fist to let her wipe her tears and snot. He’d been going through a “gentleman” phase lately and insisted on carrying a handkerchief, presumably for precisely this reason. Alana smiled from her vantage point on the bench as Christopher carefully folded his handkerchief and tuck it back in his pocket.

She thought something of it later, when she was loading the washing machine (they had servants for this sort of thing, of course, but Alana hated feeling like an invalid) and Christopher came careening into the room, howling “MOOOOOOOOMM!! I CAN’T FIND MY HANKIE!!”

“It’s probably in here somewhere,” Alana said, as Christopher pawed through the hamper.

“Oh, good,” Christopher breathed, relieved as only a four-year-old could be, as he found the folded rectangle and clutched it to his chest. “I was saving it,” he declared, and marched out of the room.

A chill washed up Alana’s spine. _Saving it? For what?_


	5. The Last Unicorn (fusion/crossover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt where Hannibal and Will meet at a circus/fairground as children](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/128540169642/prompt-where-hannibal-and-will-meet-at-a)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously strayed from the prompt quite a bit; this happens sometimes.

The crowds had dispersed, the cages circled and the fire banked beneath the bright wash of the full moon. The guard was a snoring blanketed lump by the glowing ashes. The unicorn crouched in the center of his cage, as far away from the iron bars as he could get. His horn hurt.

His neighbor, however, showed no such compunction: he pressed against the bars of his cage as if straining toward the unicorn’s light. The unicorn didn’t like to look at him; it was like looking at a void in the sky where the stars ought to be. All he could make out, from the corner of his eye, was the suggestion of branching antlers; long claws; a gaunt and terrifying figure.

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” said the wendigo.

None of the other beasts in Mommy Fortuna’s “Creatures of Night, Brought to Light” traveling caravan were what they seemed. There was a lame dog with two extra enchanted flaming heads; a skinny old lion with a glamoured scorpion tail; an ordinary python who, during showtime, filled his cage with the tail of the Midgard Serpent. Stupid magic, foolish magic; but then, the unicorn had been captured by such magic, so he supposed he could have no judgment on the matter.

“Eyes are distracting,” said the unicorn. “You see too much. You don’t see enough.”

The wendigo tilted his head. His eyes were inky darkness in a face of shadows. The unicorn’s skin trembled.

“What you see and learn touches everything else in your mind,” the wendigo said. “No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”

“What do unicorns know about love?” said the unicorn, but he shook anyway.

“As much as wendigos,” said the wendigo. “Would you like me to set you free?”

“If you could do that,” said the unicorn, “why haven’t you set yourself free?”

“If I set you free,” said the wendigo, “you’ll belong to me forever. You’ll always remember me, here, in this cage. And I’ll be the only wendigo who’s ever possessed a unicorn.”


	6. Nukume Dori (Bird AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt fic yo! Hannibal is a bird of prey, Will is a sparrow who manages to outrun/fly him? Idk omg what is this](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/128615394092/prompt-fic-yo-hannibal-is-a-bird-of-prey-will-is)

The sparrow squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to feel the pierce and tear of beak and claw, but instead the hawk alighted on a nearby pine branch and hunched under a spray of needles, as much as he could get out of the wind and snow. The sparrow opened his eyes again. The hawk’s talons were snug enough around him that he couldn’t even consider escaping, but loose enough that he could breathe easily. He panted through his open beak.

“I would apologize for my ambush, but I know I will soon be apologizing again,” said the hawk, “so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.” He did not sound in the least bit sorry.

“Just keep it professional,” the sparrow said bitterly.

The hawk shifted on his branch, passing the sparrow from one talon to the other. It was almost cozy in the hawk’s talons; the much larger bird’s wings and feathers kept out much of the snow, and if it weren’t for the constant reminder of rending death, the sparrow might have been comfortable.

“Or we can socialize like adults,” said the hawk. “God forbid we become friendly. There’s a long night ahead of us,” the hawk added. “And you’re keeping my talons warm.”

The sparrow attempted to crane his head around to glare at the hawk, but he was too far up. The sparrow could catch only a glimpse of barred feathers and, somewhere up there, the cruel hooked beak that had ended so many of his kind. “I don’t find you that interesting.”

“You will,” the hawk replied.


	7. BSU Poker Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Do you write cracky fics? BSU poker night. Bev and Will team up to take all the winnings.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/128719211317/do-you-write-cracky-fics-bsu-poker-night-bev-and)

“I fold,” Will announced, and laid down his cards.

Jimmy and Brian exchanged panicked looks. “I fold,” Brian blurted and dropped his cards like they were scalding him. Jimmy sighed and put his cards down as well. “Me too.”

That left Beverly and Jack. Jack had an excellent poker face. Beverly did not.

“You in?” she asked with an arched brow.

Jack tossed in a chip. “Two pairs,” he declared, displaying a pair of twos and a pair of sixes.

“Hey, that’s funny,” said Beverly. “Three of a kind.” She showed off three jacks.

Jack didn’t think it was funny as Beverly swept the chips toward her and stacked them, humming to herself.

“I’m still not sure we should have let Will play,” said Brian. “I mean, can’t you just use that thing you do,” he wiggled his fingers, “to, like, know how everyone’s feeling about their hand?”

“Even if I could–which I can’t, I’m not actually a wizard–your _feelings_ about your hand tell me nothing about the actual _quality_ of your hand as compared to everyone else’s,” said Will. He did not appear to be bothered by Brian’s insinuations.

“Then why have we been following your lead all night?!”

Will shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s not like I’m winning.”

Will’s winnings, so far, were modest–smaller than Jack’s, but larger than either Jimmy’s or Brian’s. If anything, Beverly had walked away with most of the pots, despite her tendency to loudly announce things like, “Ugh, my cards all SUCK!”

“Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark,” Jimmy said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Hey!” said Beverly. “Are we playing poker or what?”


	8. Hannibal Frasier, part 1 (AU/crossover/fusion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Heyyyy so about this Hannibal Frasier au...](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/128749329132/heyyyy-so-about-this-hannibal-frasier-au)

“Caller, you’re on the air.”

“Yes, hello, Dr. Lecter,” said a deep male voice. “This is Tobias, from Baltimore.”

“Hello, Tobias,” said Hannibal. “How can I help you?”

“Well, my question isn’t about myself, exactly. I wondered if you would give your listeners the benefit of your professional opinion about the symphony murder? There’s a lot of speculation that it’s the work of the Chesapeake Ripper.”

One would think that the benefit of radio work would be a certain freedom of facial expression, but Hannibal’s sound engineer and producer were just on the other side of the glass, watching him carefully as always. He kept his expression neutral and said, “Yes, I’ve seen the speculation as well, and I think it is unwarranted. It is most assuredly not the work of the Ripper.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“One could be forgiven for drawing that conclusion,” Hannibal went on. “There’s an artistry to the symphony murder that is reminiscent of the Ripper’s work, the transformation of a human being into an artistic statement. But there’s no organ removal, no surgical trophies, and the statement itself is very judgmental in a way that the Ripper is not. The Ripper is more…whimsical, if I had to choose a word. I would venture to say that the symphony murderer was perhaps trying to get the Ripper’s attention, but to no avail.”

“No avail?”

“If the symphony murderer is indeed serenading the Ripper,” said Hannibal, “the Ripper has no interest in listening. He works alone.” The light on his dashboard began blinking. “Next caller, please. Yes, caller, you’re on the air.”

“Yeah, you’re full of shit.”

Hannibal blinked and gave his producer an incredulous look. On the other side of the glass, she sat back with her arms crossed over her chest and grinned. “Pardon?”

“The Chesapeake Ripper isn’t some kind of _artist_ , and he’s judgmental as hell. He’s so judgmental that he thinks he gets to decide who lives and who dies, according to whatever esoteric rule that he works by. If you got one thing right, it’s that he has no interest whatsoever in the symphony murderer. That’s because he’s got his head up so far his own ass he could chew his food twice.”

Hannibal opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, “Who is this?”

“Will, from Wolf Trap,” the caller replied, and hung up.


	9. Hannibal Frasier, part 2 (AU/fusion/crossover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I am so incredibly into that Hannibal Frasier AU.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/128824199442/i-am-so-incredibly-into-that-hannibal-frasier-au)

The dog was on the couch again.

Hannibal did not know why he was annoyed. The dog was always on the couch, leaving white hairs all over the brown leather. This despite the fact that the dog was, technically, not allowed on the couch.

“I told him,” said Aunt Murasaki, when she spied Hannibal frowning at the Italian greyhound. She was in the recliner, where she always was, dressed in a house kimono. “I said, ‘Jun, you know that makes Hannibal angry.’”

The dog responded to Hannibal’s stare with staring of its own. Hannibal hung up his coat and began to loosen his necktie.

“Oh, by the way, Frederick is coming over for dinner,” Aunt Murasaki added, just before a cheerful tattoo of knocks sounded on the door.

Hannibal repressed a groan. “Lovely.” He opened the door.

Frederick Chilton beamed at him. “Thank you _so_ much for the invitation.”

“The pleasure is mine, as always,” Hannibal lied. “I’m afraid I just got home. But please, make yourself at home, you can keep my aunt company in the living room. Would you like anything to drink?”

“I never say no to a glass of wine.”

Hannibal departed to the kitchen to open a bottle and contemplate murder. Chilton he could get away with, perhaps, but his aunt’s untimely death would come with unpleasant side effects. Perhaps he could poison the dog, one of these days. He could hear Murasaki and Chilton talking in the living room. Murasaki hardly ever listened to Hannibal’s show herself, but she liked to hear Chilton’s summation of them. Hannibal could just make out the words “Wolf Trap.” He ground his teeth together as he poured the glasses.

“Oh, William?” said Aunt Murasaki. “Hannibal, you didn’t tell me that William called into your show!” she called, louder.

Hannibal returned to the living room with two wine glasses, one of which he handed to Chilton. “I wasn’t aware you knew him.”

“William of Wolf Trap, Virginia?” said Murasaki. “We’re very good friends! We’re both dog people, you know. I think I have his business card.”

“I’d love to see it,” said Hannibal. He took a sip of his wine and felt much better already.


	10. Ulterior Motives (Will & Jack friendship, S3 spoilers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Could you write something with Jack and Will?(anything, run wild my dove, run wild)](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/129128393067/could-you-write-something-with-jack-and)

All the people were gone, and Jack was surrounded by casseroles.

Tuna noodle casserole. Chicken and rice casserole. Something called an enchilada casserole. There was also an entire frozen lasagna, quarts of soup ranging from broccoli and cheese to chicken noodle, a meatloaf, and enough banana bread to build a small fort. That was on top of what was already in the freezer, that people had brought when Bella had been sick.

Bella wasn’t sick anymore.

His phone rang. Jack answered it with relief. “Hello, Will.”

“I’m in the neighborhood,” said Will. “I was wondering if I could drop by.”

Jack strongly doubted Will was just “in the neighborhood.” Will had no reason to be “in the neighborhood.” He surveyed the landscape of foil-covered dishes and said, “I have a lot of casserole.”

Will gave a creaky, rusty chuckle. “Yeah, I remember that from when my dad died. Do you want some help?”

“Please.”

Will rang the doorbell in fifteen minutes. He said, “Which kind do you like the least?”

“I don’t know; I haven’t tried any of them yet.” Jack eyeballed the platoon of dishes spread over his dining room table and said, “Probably the tuna noodle casserole.”

Will ate three helpings. Jack thought that probably none of them deserved him; he’d used this man very ill, and here he was anyway, sitting in Jack’s house and not talking to him about his dead wife.

Afterward, Will said, “Actually, I have an ulterior motive.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack said. It came out sounding too casual.

“I’m going out of town this weekend and was wondering if you could help look after the dogs,” said Will. “I don’t think Alana’s up to it yet.”

Alana was still walking with a cane. Jack could concede that she probably wasn’t ready to take care of a pack of dogs.

“I can bring them here,” said Will. “If that’s more convenient.”

 _Bella would throw a fit_ , Jack almost said, and then he stopped. “Sure. They’re housebroken, right?”

Will gave him a fond, amused look. “Of course they are.”

He brought them by the next day; there were only six of them now–only!–but Jack was amazed that they all fit in the back of Will’s station wagon. Will told him their names and dropped off an enormous sack of kibble, along with a bag of toys and their leashes. Jack had no idea how he was going to walk six dogs on leashes. He would have to take them to the park.

“They’ll be fine in the yard, too,” said Will. “They’re good dogs.”

They _were_ good dogs. Harvard, the big red one, looked ferocious but actually just loved to lie on Jack’s feet; Buster, the Jack Russell Terrier, was a clown who was always trying to get Jack’s attention. They were noisy, too: not loud, not like they barked all the time, but their nails clicking against the floors and the jingling of their collars filled what was otherwise a hollow and cavernous home.

Zoe, one of the little dogs that Jack had always privately thought was rather ugly, sat on his lap and licked his face when he cried. He wondered if Will knew that she did that, and then didn’t think about how or why Will might know about it.

 _Ulterior motives_ , Jack thought, as he hugged Zoe to his chest. _I wonder if he’s even out of town at all._


	11. Telling Molly (S3 finale spoilers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ["Now I think about Jack coming to talk to Molly after the cliff. I imagine he tells her that she'd better consider him dead, whatever happened. I imagine him thinking to himself that he'd prefer Will to be dead rather than..."](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/129178749912/now-i-think-about-jack-coming-to-talk-to-molly)

Jack could have sent someone else to tell her, but he went himself.

Molly was still in the hospital. It wasn’t fair, Jack knew; but none of this was fair. Life wasn’t fair. But he went himself, because that, at least, was fair. He owed her that.

She knew, as soon as she saw him in her doorway. They usually did. Her eyes widened, and her expression wobbled. Jack closed the door behind him and pulled up a chair.

“Where’s Walter?” he asked.

“School.” 

Jack remembered his amazement, after Bella’s passing, that the sun still rose and set; that stoplights still went from green to yellow to red, and then to green again; that people still got up in the morning and went to work. It seemed that everyone ought to know that the world now had a void in it, but they didn’t. He was amazed now. Children still went to school.

Molly curled her fingers in the coarse hospital blanket. “Say what you’ve come to say.”

“The Tooth Fairy’s dead,” said Jack. “The one that we were after.”

Molly let out a long breath through her nose. “And Will?”

“We don’t know,” said Jack. Molly took in another breath. Jack looked away. “We traced him and Hannibal Lecter to one of Lecter’s safehouses in Maine. That was where we found Dolarhyde–the Tooth Fairy. There was a lot of blood, and not all of it was his. Some of it was Lecter’s. And Will’s. But we didn’t find their bodies. The blood goes,” he took a deep breath, “the blood goes over the cliff.”

“Over the cliff,” Molly said in a trembling voice.

“It’s a,” Jack looked at his hands. “It’s a long drop. My people are searching, we’ve got divers and cameras, but we don’t.” He sighed. “We don’t know. We may never find anything.”

Molly didn’t look at him. She looked away, at the wall, her hands still fisted in the blanket. “What do you think?”

Jack had seen a man somehow carve wings of skin and flesh out of his own back and suspend himself from the ceiling of a barn; he had seen Miriam Lass come back from the dead; he had seen Chilton carved up, with his viscera exposed, live to be shot in the face and then, years later, set on fire and still survive; he had personally put several holes in Hannibal Lecter, broken his arm, and shoved him out of a window, and still he’d popped up again not a week later, to surrender himself to the police. Human beings were a miraculous bunch, and Lecter had the devil’s own luck.

“I think it’s very likely that he’s dead,” said Jack. “That they’re both dead.”

Molly nodded. Jack couldn’t see her face, turned away as it was.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Thank you.” Molly still didn’t look at him.

Jack rose from his seat and fished in his pocket for his wallet. “I’ll leave my card. If there’s anything you need-- _anything at all_ \--please call. I mean it. If you need someone to talk to, or help with, with anything.”

Molly nodded. Jack left the room.

He hoped Will really was dead. None of them deserved him, Jack thought, but especially not Hannibal Lecter.


	12. She Knows Enough (Molly asks Will about Hannibal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you know how Bedelia asked Will if his wife knew and he said she knew enough? Well could I prompt you for [that conversation Will and Molly may of had at one point](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/129544712812/so-you-know-how-bedelia-asked-will-if-his-wife)?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicide

“So,” she said. She took a deep breath. “You’re…you’re _that_ Will Graham, right? The one who, um.”

“Hannibal Lecter,” Will supplied. He couldn’t bring himself to say “Hannibal the Cannibal.”

It was courteous of her to wait this long; it was courteous of her to ask the way she did, really. She had to know he was _that_ Will Graham; his picture had been in not just Tattlecrime, but the _Washington Post_ and _The New York Times_ and _USA Today_. Especially in the weeks before and after the trial, Will hadn’t been able to go to the supermarket without little old ladies coming up and asking him in hushed voices if he was the one who caught Hannibal Lecter.

Molly nodded. She crossed her legs, laced her fingers together over her knee, and Will bit his lip because Hannibal used to do that. Winston came over and put his head on her thigh, and she rubbed him absently behind the ears. Will felt something in his gut unwind. “I don’t want to pry,” she said.

Will gestured with his glass of whiskey; the ice shifted and clinked. “You’re curious. It’s natural to be curious.”

Molly continued to scratch Winston behind the ears, frowning a little. Finally, she looked up and said, “My first husband committed suicide.”

Will’s glass stilled on the way to his lips. He rested it against his knee instead.

“He started to go downhill not long after Walter was born.” Molly sounded calm, like she was talking about a book she’d read, but she talked to the arm of Will’s chair. “We joked at first that he was having the postpartum depression instead of me, but then it wasn’t funny anymore. He wasn’t well.” She took a deep breath. “It got worse. He didn’t want to go to therapy; didn’t want to take medication; we started fighting more and more. And of course we were raising Walter at the same time, so we were both exhausted. Then Walter–Walter Sr.–got fired from his job, and he started drinking. Started threatening to kill himself. I begged him to get help, but he wouldn’t. Then one night, we were fighting again and he said he was going to go out in the garage and gas himself to death, in the car, and I said fine, go ahead, you’re not going to do it anyway, you’re too chicken. And I took Walter and went and stayed with my sister for a couple days.” She looked down at Winston. Winston looked back up at her. “And when I came back he was dead. Carbon monoxide poisoning in the garage, just like he’d said.”

Will got up and poured her a glass of whiskey.

“Thanks,” she said, but she didn’t take a sip, not right away. But she could meet his eyes now. She smiled, but it was fleeting; her eyes remained uncertain. “So that’s my secret. I figured I couldn’t ask you about yours unless you knew one of mine.”

“Then you’ve put me in debt to you,” said Will. “A secret for a secret. It’s not fair if it doesn’t go both ways.”

Molly shook her head. “This isn’t quid pro quo, Will. You always have the option to refuse.”


	13. Straight Hannibal & Gay Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know Brian described Will and Hannibal as one of them being omnisexual and the other, straight but he never specified which(tho most ppl say will is straight) but I think it'd be [an interesting prompt](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/129967776942/i-know-brian-described-will-and-hannibal-as-one-of) where Will is the omnisexual one and Hannibal is straight(will not really ever thinking about gender of a person, and Hannibal not actively avoiding male relationships but just doesn't really find people interesting enough to be in one with, his only history being Bedelia n Alana)

Hannibal’s lips were slack at first, and then he sighed with mingled pleasure and surprise. “Ah, I never could predict you.”

Will pulled away. “Really?”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. “You must admit, statistically–”

“No, I mean,” Will paused. “You’re not…?”

“People have rarely interested me in that manner. There was some perfunctory exploration in my youth–with women only, as that was what was expected–but since then.” Hannibal sat back on the couch and waved a hand in a surprisingly inelegant gesture. “I take my pleasure in different pursuits.”

Blood, black in the moonlight. Birds drowned in armagnac. A man, skinned and folded into a broken heart. Will tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Then Alana?”

“She was very pleasant. I believe I satisfied her.”

That knowledge gave Will only the faintest twinge of anger and regret. “Bedelia?”

“I would characterize those experiences as novel, I believe for both of us.”

Will looked at Hannibal. Hannibal looked at Will. “And this?”

“Would also be novel. And more than pleasant.” Hannibal tilted his head. “I’m surprised that you’re so open-minded, red-blooded male from the American South that you are.”

“That doesn’t automatically make me a Neanderthal,” Will replied, nettled. “And besides: empathy disorder.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s hard to care about someone’s plumbing when I can’t even get out of their head. Sometimes it was difficult to tell if I was attracted to them, or if I was just feeling their attraction to me.” He looked away. “I think the times I–the times I felt most like myself, was when I was with people who didn’t feel much of anything at all.”

“Ah.” And this time Hannibal reached out and touched Will’s face, and turned it toward him. He smiled with all of his teeth. “Didn’t I tell you that you would find me interesting.”


	14. Wanting (Will experiments with Hannibal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please can I ask you for some hannigram fic recs where Will is straight and gets drunk or something and [has his first time with Hannibal](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130001053822/please-can-i-ask-you-for-some-hannigram-fic-recs)? Some fics that go from straight to gay? Thank you so much!

The whiskey makes the still-healing wound in the side of Will’s face sting until tears stand out in his eyes, but he finishes the glass before he touches Hannibal. He doesn’t have very far to go; the boat is small, and the cabin is snug.

“Will,” Hannibal says as Will’s fingers glance along the side of his face.

“If your compassion for me is inconvenient,” says Will, “mine is hardly any less.”

Hannibal catches Will’s hand in his and puts it back in Will’s lap. “Not like this,” he says, gently.

So the next time, Will doesn’t drink beforehand, and he puts his hands on Hannibal’s face, his shoulder, his elbow, his knee, and he doesn’t look very much at Hannibal’s face. He has to be careful of Hannibal’s side. Neither of them is up to anything very athletic, which is fine because Will’s heart is trying to climb into his throat.

Will opens Hannibal’s flies and draws out his cock. He thought there’d be more fanfare to it than that, but Hannibal makes no cutting remark and Will fails to run away and vomit. Hannibal is uncircumcised, the head still hidden behind the foreskin. That changes as Will strokes him; Hannibal’s breathing deepens and he opens his legs wider.

Watching Hannibal get excited is getting Will a little excited, too, but he doesn’t touch himself. He tries to adjust his grip, his speed, to see what Hannibal likes better, but Hannibal seems to like all of it equally, judging from the way his head tips back and his eyes close.

“Will,” Hannibal says, after a few minutes. “I’m–ah.”

Will looks at the globs of semen on his hand and decides that he doesn’t need to taste it. Every teenage boy has tried tasting his own; he doubts it’s much different. He gets up and washes his hands.

When he returns, Hannibal is watching him heavy-lidded but still alert. “Would you like me to do something for you?”

“No,” Will decides. “Not right now.” And he climbs into his separate berth.

—–

 _This isn’t the first time Hannibal has had human flesh in his mouth_ , Will thinks, half-hysterically. _It’s probably not even the first time he’s had cock--_ But that brings up memories of Mason Verger, which is hardly something Will wants to be thinking about now. He closes his eyes and focuses on the warm, wet movement around his dick. Hannibal sucks cock like a pro: sloppy, just the right amount of suction, and when he swallows around Will’s cock Will can’t help the shudder that runs through his entire body.

“Ah,” he says, the only warning he can get out before he comes. Hannibal swallows, of course, and holds Will in his mouth until Will is too sensitive and has to pull away.

Will presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Do you want me to–”

“Only if you’d like to,” Hannibal says companionably.

“I think I’d rather not,” Will admits.

“That is fine.” Hannibal rises to his feet and begins to move about the cabin, rearranging the seating into berths. The berths are surprisingly wide; you could maybe even fit two people into one, if they were very close. But there’s space enough that they can each have their own berth, so they do.

“I feel like I should want you,” says Will. “That way. But I don’t. Sorry,” he adds, though he doesn’t feel all that sorry.

Hannibal hums and comes to sit down by Will. “You know what I’ve wanted for us,” he says. “And I have it.” He looks terribly smug as he says it.


	15. A Hannigram Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Could I prompt you for a hannigraham wedding](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130174790142/could-i-prompt-you-for-a-hannigraham-wedding-or)? Or if not that, something with Abigail in it?

“This isn’t legal, you know,” Will said, because it was too quiet.

The wind rustled the leaves. Branches waved and snickered overhead. Somewhere, in the distance, a twig snapped. Will looked, but didn’t see anything. A deer, maybe. Or a squirrel.

Hannibal didn’t look up. He was very focused on twining a length of red ribbon around their joined hands. “Time was, no witnesses were required for a marriage to be legal,” he said. “All that was required was for two individuals to consent and exchange vows.” He looked up, and this time Will looked away. “The witnesses and church weddings came later, because there needed to be ways to prove these marriages other than by habit and repute.”

Will swallowed and flexed his fingers, but not enough to dislodge Hannibal’s careful work. “I’m still married, technically.”

“Since this wedding is not, as you point out, legal, then that should not bother you.” Hannibal tied a simple knot in the ribbon around Will’s wrist, a mirror to the one around his own. Will was certain his palm had to be unpleasantly sweaty.

“Now,” said Hannibal, and this time Will looked up and was pinned by Hannibal’s gaze like a butterfly to a card. “Will Graham, will you accept me as your husband?”

“Yes,” Will whispered. He would never get used to how Hannibal looked at him. “And will you,” he had to swallow past the dryness in his throat, “will you accept me as yours?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, as if the word had no weight at all; as if he were answering the question of whether or not the sun rose in the east and set in the west. “For as long as we both shall live.”

“For as long as we both shall live,” Will echoed, seized by a sudden hysteria; that might not be very long at all, knowing them. He kept it to himself, and it dissolved when Hannibal raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed Will on the knuckles.

“If you’ll indulge me,” said Hannibal, “I have one more bit of romanticism.” And he drew a padlock out of his pocket.

“Oh no,” said Will. “You’re not going to lock that to a bridge and throw the key in the river, are you?”

“Why not?” said Hannibal. “Symbols are important.”

And they strolled on, hands still joined, tied at the wrist by a piece of ribbon. Will thought that he should feel silly, but he didn’t.


	16. Little Billy (Will and his father)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Can I prompt you for a scene between Will and his dad?](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130409042002/can-i-prompt-you-for-a-scene-between-will-and-his)

“Billy!” his dad hollered. “Billy, get your ass out here, I need you to hold the goddamn tools.”

Will put down his book and sauntered out to the driveway, where his dad was on his back underneath the truck. The truck was on her last legs; she’d been on her last legs for the last 10,000 miles now. Somehow his father kept her running.

“Hand me the fourteen,” his dad grunted. Will handed him the fourteen millimeter ratchet wrench.

“Dad,” he said. “I don’t think I want to be Billy anymore. I’d like to be called Will now.”

Will couldn’t see his father’s face, under the truck as he was, but he could hear the ticking of the ratchet wrench come to a stop. He rolled out from under the truck and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His face and hands were thick with wrinkles and calluses and covered with a permanent layer of grime. “What’s this about?” he asked.

That morning, on his first day at the new school, the teacher had called him “Will–William?” Will had been set to correct her, as he always did, that he went by Billy. Then he’d looked at the other kids, all staring at him, and said, “Yes’m, Will.”

“Nothing,” said Will. “It’s just, it’s a new place. This way people won’t get us mixed up.”

His father narrowed his eyes. “Men in our family always been Billy,” he said, and Will could not deny that: his grandfather and his cousins were blond Billy, old Billy, fat Billy, Billy middle-name-here. When they were around family, Will was “little Billy,” or “Billy Junior,” even though there was a littler Billy now, his cousin’s son, Billy Tom.

“Will is Billy,” said Will. “It’s just pronounced different.”

“You disrespecting me?” His father’s voice sharpened.

“No, sir,” Will said quickly. “Just making a suggestion.”

His father lay back down and wheeled back under the truck. “You’re Billy,” he said. “Now stay there. I’m gonna need you.”

Will sat on his ass in the gravel and wished he’d brought his book. He’d still be Will at school, he thought. It was too late to change it now. He’d be Billy at home. He squinted up at the sky. He was almost fourteen; it wouldn’t be long.


	17. Quid Pro Quo (Freddie and Molly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Not sure if you're still taking prompts, but could you write something with Molly and Freddie? Preferably post-WOTL.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130639314827/not-sure-if-youre-still-taking-prompts-but-could)

“Do you think he’s dead?” Freddie asked.

Molly looked out of the window and fidgeted with the handle of her mug, turning it this way and that. She still wore her wedding ring. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “Sometimes I hope he is. Because if he isn’t, I don’t know how he’s living now. If he’s happy.”

“No offense,” said Freddie, “but your husband scared the crap out of me on a regular basis.”

Molly laughed. “I know. That’s why I asked you in here.”

And here Freddie thought it was her gumption. Other reporters had tried and had to write “not available for comment” or “no one answered the door.” But other reporters weren’t Freddie Lounds, who’d camped in her car outside the house for two days before Molly Graham had knocked on her window and said, “I don’t want you freezing to death on my property.”

“Everyone else, you know, they don’t want,” Molly swallowed, “to speak ill of the dead. All they’ll tell me is what a good person he is, or was–they use the past tense all the time, like if he isn’t dead, he’s no longer a good person. They’ll talk about how smart he is, how generous he is, as if I don’t know those things. The only Will Graham I ever knew–the one I know–is the smart, funny, generous guy I married. But you,” and here she turned and made eye contact, and Freddie felt pinned in her chair, “he _hated_ you--still hates you, wherever he is now--and you tell me he scared the crap out of you. So tell me: what don’t I know about my husband?”

Freddie tightened her fingers around her mug. “And what do I get out of it?”

“For now,” said Molly, “a shower, a hot meal, and a warm bed. We’ll talk about the rest of it later.”


	18. An FBI Trainee (Molly and Clarice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [oh my lord please say you were serious about Mollice i would just die!](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130706423962/oh-my-lord-please-say-you-were-serious-about)

Molly thought the knock on the door was one of the neighbors who said she’d be coming by to borrow some tools, so she didn’t bother telling the dogs to get back or doing anything with her hair. It was just Jess, and the dogs knew Jess, and Jess and Molly had known each other for years.

“I couldn’t find the,” she began, and realized that it wasn’t Jess: it was a young woman, bundled up in coats with a furry hood pulled up and her hands in her pockets.

Harvey pushed his way out from behind Molly, tail wagging. People were often intimidated by the big, jowly mutt, who looked like he might be part boxer or part pit bull. This young woman, however, just said, “Oh, aren’t you such a precious meathead!” and scratched him behind the ears. Harvey wriggled in excitement.

“You’d better come in,” Molly said.

The young woman left her snow-covered boots by the door and took off her parka. Underneath all the outerwear she was small and slender, with mouse brown hair cut in a sensible bob. “Clarice Starling,” she said. “I work for the FBI. Jack Crawford sent me.”

Molly’s jaw tightened as she hung up Starling’s coat. If Starling hadn’t already taken off her shoes, Molly might have thrown her back out in the snow.

“He said you have a lot of dogs,” Starling said. Molly turned around to find Starling kneeling with both hands buried in Jack’s neck fur as Jack tried to lick her all over her grinning face. “We had six dogs, growing up. I didn’t think that was a lot until I moved to the city. I miss ‘em.”

Molly sighed. “Would you like something to drink?”

Starling rose to her feet, slapping ineffectually at the dog hair on her pant legs. “Something warm would be nice.”

Molly waved Starling to a seat at the table and started the water for instant hot cocoa. “What does Jack want?”

Starling didn’t answer right away. Molly looked over to see Starling petting Winona with her bottom lip between her teeth. She was really quite young, probably still in her twenties. Who had Jack sent her? Finally, Starling looked up and said, “It’s about your husband.”

Molly’s breath stuck in her throat. She turned her back to the counter and leaned against it while the kettle grumbled. “He’s not my husband anymore,” she said, finally.

“Oh.” Starling kept petting Winona. “I’m sorry,” she ventured.

“What happened? What did you find?”

“A body,” Starling said. “In Marrakesh. It’s not your–it’s not Graham’s,” she added, hastily. “It looks like the Ripper, but it’s not. Crawford’s afraid they might be working together. So he sent me here, to see what I could find out about Will Graham.”


	19. Reunion (Molly, Clarice, Will, Hannibal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe when they catch up to each other it turns out more like [a weird family reunion](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130712899922/maybe-when-they-catch-up-to-each-other-it-turns), Hannibal meets hit husbands wife and vise versa, will gets his dogs back(or a dog) and everyone has dinner(that may be ppl) and feels vaguely threatened or so,etching

Clarice felt herself coming to consciousness and almost wished she wasn’t; her head throbbed, and she could feel her stomach trying to turn itself inside out. She managed to open her eyes and could see, to her right, Molly tied to the other chair, already awake.

The table had been set for four. White tablecloth; fine china; wine glasses; candles. Clarice hesitated to call the centerpiece a flower arrangement: it appeared to be composed mostly of weeds and wild flowers, and even a pine branch.

Molly drew in a gulping breath. Clarice wanted to say she was sorry for dragging Molly into this, but her tongue lay thick and heavy in her mouth.

Graham came into the room at that moment, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt against his charcoal suit. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said. His gaze alighted on Molly, who looked back up at him with eyes wide and wet and terrified. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded genuinely _sorry_ , which was the most frightening thing Clarice had heard all night. “It won’t be for long, I just–”

A door opened and shut, loudly, in the other room. Graham frowned and turned around.

Hannibal Lecter strode into the dining room, looking aggrieved. He was wearing a dark red sweater and light-colored trousers.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Graham said.

“I’m aware,” Lecter replied. “Why was I not invited? That’s _rude_ , Will; I expected better of you.”

Clarice counted the settings again. There were definitely four. But if the fourth wasn’t for Lecter, then who?

“Not here,” said Graham. He touched Lecter’s elbow and guided him back toward the kitchen. Clarice strained to hear, but their voices had lowered.

Something tugged at her ropes. Clarice almost yelped, but a voice hissed, “Keep it down, Starling!”

“Freddie?” Molly mouthed.

Clarice felt a cold blade against her wrists and heard it bite through the rope. They slackened and fell away, and Clarice snatched up the steak knife on the table and used it to saw away at the bonds around her ankles as Freddie worked on Molly. It didn’t take long.

“Car’s outside, to the left,” Freddie whispered. “Move it!”


	20. About the Dogs (Will/Molly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I prompt you for [Will/Molly + dogs/nightmares](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130815336072/could-i-prompt-you-for-willmolly)? Based on [this](http://vi0lentquiche.tumblr.com/post/130758595878/claws-at-face-he-had-nightmares-and-buried) థ_థ

At first, Molly thought it was an earthquake. Then she remembered that it’d been years since she’d lived in Oregon, just as a her bedmate kicked her in the calves.

Will woke with a gasp. Molly smelled sweat and fear. She opened bleary eyes just in time to see Will sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. “Mnuh?” she managed. “Will?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry, sorry. Go back to sleep.” He got up and shuffled out of the bedroom.

Well, or not really: Will treated the ground floor of his farmhouse like a studio apartment, and Molly could watch from the bed as Will summoned his dogs with a tongue-click and opened the front door. The dogs eagerly piled out onto the porch, and Molly watched Will’s dark silhouette through the screen door. She got up; Will’s side of the bed was damp to the touch.

After locating the spare sheets, after stripping the bed and putting the soiled sheets in the washing machine, Molly brought Will a mug of instant coffee on the porch. He was sitting and looking at his dogs, who had deposed themselves at various distances away from his chair. Zoe had won the comfort of his lap.

“Thanks,” he said, looking surprised. Molly wondered if he’d forgotten that she was there.

“It’s freezing out here,” she said. Will was just in the t-shirt and boxers he’d gone to bed in. Molly had thrown on her windbreaker, but her legs were bare and chilled.

Will shrugged. “I told you I have nightmares,” he said, like he was waiting for her to accuse him of something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Will rested his hand on the back of Zoe’s neck. “It was about the dogs,” he said.

Molly waited.

“Something happened to them.” Will didn’t look at her. “I had to make sure they were okay.”

“And they are,” said Molly, eyeing the lumps on the porch.

“Yeah,” said Will. “They are.”


	21. Hannibal Plays the Piano 2 (Pianist AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi - I've been reading your tumblr fics on AO3 and LOVE the two involving Hannibal / Will & the piano! If you have time would you please consider writing some [more on that theme](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130844692137/hi-ive-been-reading-your-tumblr-fics-on-ao3-and) and developing the relationship between the two? Thanks!

At last, after a 24 hour on call shift, Hannibal had a day to himself.

Any other medical resident would have gone straight to bed and stayed there for the next twelve hours, but Hannibal was too wired for sleep, his body alive with victory over death. He got the pancetta and chicken stock out of the freezer and opened a bottle of pinot grigio. Making risotto would occupy him well enough until he was ready for a nap. He put on Bach’s Goldberg Variations and began dicing lardons, humming to himself.

Hannibal had just added the rice when he heard something rustle and pass underneath the door. He eyed the door, then the rice; curiosity got the better of him, and he turned down the flame on his risotto. It would survive a few minutes without him.

It was an envelope. Nothing special, or urgent: some piece of public relations or other from Johns Hopkins. However, someone had written on the back in blue ballpoint pen, in the same untidy handwriting that had thanked him for his piano music last week:

_Hi,_

_I got some of your mail by mistake. Thanks for the piano music. Will you play again tonight?_

_P.S. Your cooking always smells amazing._

Hannibal was fairly certain by now that “Will” was Ms. Cabot’s subletter. She had mentioned it to him in passing a few months ago–while bringing him a piece of mail, in fact. Their mailboxes in the lobby were next to each other, and the mail carrier was forever slipping letters into the wrong box. “He used to be a police officer,” she’d said. “Now he’s a student at George Washington.”

Well, if Will liked Hannibal’s piano playing and the smell of Hannibal’s cooking, how could Hannibal deny him? In fact, Hannibal thought, as he stirred the rice and added a splash of wine, perhaps he’d bring Will some risotto and play for him in person. Ms. Cabot had a perfectly good piano.


	22. Mine (Murder Husbands)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Could I prompt you with something where Will maybe says "he may be a cannibal, but he's my cannibal?"](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131030644457/could-i-prompt-you-with-something-where-will-maybe)

The young American spat blood from his mouth as he struggled to his feet, machete held out in front of him. “You know what he is, don’t you?” He glowered at Will from under a tangled fringe of matted hair. “He’s a _cannibal_. He’s _Hannibal the Cannibal_.”

Will gave Hannibal a long-suffering look. “I told you not to take that university job. It’s too public. Someone was going to recognize you.”

Hannibal shrugged. He set the greyhound statuette back on the sideboard and folded his pocket square.

“And you.” Will rounded on the American, who’d at least had the sense to back himself against the wall. He vaguely remembered that he had some kind of young, boyish name. Zack? Sean? “What made you think going with him was a good idea? What did you think you were going to do-- _blackmail him_?”

“The young think they’re clever and invincible,” Hannibal said. “They find out otherwise to their detriment.”

Zack--or Sean--had been watching them like a tennis match. Now he burst out, “Didn’t you hear me? He’s _Hannibal. The Cannibal_.” He gestured wildly with the blade.

“Stop calling him that,” Will said, very calmly. “And yes, I know. He may be a cannibal and a killer, but he’s _mine_.”

And with that, Will drew a knife. Hannibal smiled as he tucked his pocket square back into his jacket.


	23. Conflict of Interest (Jack & Will talk about Hannibal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt for a maybe awkward conversation Jack and Will had where Bev or someone points out how close Will and Hannibal are and [Jack straight up awkwardly asks Will](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131265556627/prompt-for-a-maybe-awkward-conversation-jack-and) just how deep his relationship goes with hannibal?

“Will,” Jack said. “Step in my office, please.”

Will stepped in Jack’s office. 

Jack nodded to one of the chairs in front of his desk and added, “Shut the door.”

Now Will had a bad feeling. Nobody ever asked you into their office and asked you to shut the door for a good conversation. Will shut the door and took his seat. He slouched a little, knees jutting past the seat cushion. It was like being in the principal’s office all over again, except the chairs were more comfortable.

“About your relationship with Dr. Lecter,” Jack began.

Will raised his eyebrows.

Jack took a deep breath, and it occurred to Will now what hadn’t occurred to him as a child or a teenager: that Jack did not want to have this conversation any more than he did. “I need to know if your relationship is…personal.”

“Personal,” Will repeated. “By which you mean, the opposite of professional.”

“If you take my meaning,” said Jack.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Will said. “He’s not my therapist. We just have conversations. Therefore, our relationship is personal.”

“But you also have a professional relationship,” said Jack. “He consults on our cases. He’s a colleague. You share information about the crimes with him. _Confidential_ information. That would be in blatant violation of policy if there wasn’t also a professional relationship.”

Will had enjoyed having the upper hand for a minute there, but now he was tired. “Ask me what you want to ask me, Jack. You want to know if Dr. Lecter and I are, what, friends? Dating? I wouldn’t still be calling _Dr. Lecter_ if we were dating. But even if we were, there’s nothing in the rules against that. I could be dating Beverly and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Jack sighed. “I need to know because he _definitely_ can’t be your therapist if you’re dating. That’s a clear conflict of interest.”

“But he’s not my therapist,” Will insisted. “We just talk. That’s all.”

“You talk therapeutically.”

“No,” Will said. “We talk about the cases.”

“So the other night,” Jack said, “when I found you and Dr. Lecter in your classroom at nine o’ clock on a Friday night, you were talking about the case?”

“He was looking at photos with me,” said Will. _I’d missed my appointment_ , Will didn’t say, because it didn’t make much sense to have appointments for conversations that were definitely not therapy.

“Magnanimous of him,” said Jack. “Okay. Well.” 

Jack sat back in his seat, which Will took as his cue to leave. He rose from his seat.

“Let me know if anything changes,” said Jack.

Will gave him a curt nod and departed, making sure to leave Jack’s door open as he went.


	24. Stop (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Can I request a prompt, where [Will says to Hannibal](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131321283002/hi-can-i-request-a-prompt-where-will-says-to) the quote "would you ever say to me 'stop, if you loved me, you'd stop?" Thanks!!

“What if I wanted to tie you down?” Will asked.

“I would let you do that,” Hannibal replied.

So Will tied him down, spreadeagled, on the bed. Leather restraints around the wrists and ankles. If the position brought back any bad memories, Hannibal did not betray them.

Will straddled Hannibal’s midsection and pulled the knife out of the back of his waistband. He flicked it open. “What if I wanted to hurt you?”

“You could,” said Hannibal. “I’m in no position to stop you.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Will. “Even if you couldn’t free yourself in five seconds, which I know you could, all you’d have to do is tell me to stop.”

Hannibal tilted his chin up at Will. Will bent his head toward Hannibal. Time slowed and thickened to a sickly sweet syrup, dripping second by second into the room, slower than their heartbeats.

“But you’d never tell me to stop, would you?” Will said. “You’d never say to me, ‘stop, if you loved me, you’d stop.’”

“Is your object to hear me beg?” Hannibal queried.

“No.” Will bent and held the tip of the knife just above Hannibal’s collarbone, his other hand spread flat over Hannibal’s pectoral muscle. “The object is to hear you ask if I love you.”

Will was close enough to see Hannibal’s pupils dilate as he took in a sharp breath. He grinned, sharp and feral and bright, and said, “Then never stop, dear Will. If you love me, don’t stop.”


	25. Mundane (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt: anything with Hannibal finding the mundane a little bit more wonderful now that Will is living with him.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131328708647/prompt-anything-with-hannibal-finding-the-mundane)

Hannibal had once been alone, and he had been happy. He had gone to the parfumerie alone and purchased what he wanted to purchase; he had gone to the opera alone and suffered no pitying glances; when he wanted company, he invited people over for dinner. When he did not, he didn’t.

But now there was Will.

“Who spends three dollars on a bunch of spinach?” Will asked, eyeing the little green bunches. Hannibal picked up two of the bunches and carried them to the cashier, much to Will’s open-mouthed dismay. “Seriously?” Will said as Hannibal collected his change and added the spinach to his canvas bag. “You can buy spinach at the supermarket for a dollar. It comes in a bag and it’s already cleaned.” 

“This spinach is better,” Hannibal replied.

“All spinach is the same when it’s cooked in a stick of butter,” said Will. “With bacon.”

Hannibal reached out and caught Will’s hand. That never failed to shut Will up, at least for a few minutes. Will’s hand twitched, the fingers spasming, but they did turn and reciprocate Hannibal’s grip, eventually. By that time, Hannibal was at the next stall, giving serious consideration to the bottles of raw milk, buried in ice in a cooler.

“I can’t justify paying five dollars a quart for milk,” said Will.

“You liked the milk,” Hannibal answered.

“It was really good,” Will admitted.

“We’ll buy it last,” Hannibal decided. “On our way out. That way it will stay cold.”

Will squeezed his hand. “Okay.”


	26. Make a New Promise (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [If I may be a trashling and request more of the wonder that is Will exploring his dominance/sadism blend, with Hannibal actively encouraging it. That is my tasty, tasty jam.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131362111157/if-i-may-be-a-trashling-and-request-more-of-the)

Hannibal was in the kitchen, doing something with apples. Will came up behind him and said, “You’re feeling better.”

Will had been noiseless in his bare feet, still in his pajamas, but Hannibal betrayed no surprise or excitement. He let fall a long red curl of apple skin and said, “As are you.”

Will leaned backward against the counter and took the knife from Hannibal’s hand. He tossed it from hand to hand as Hannibal put down his apple and looked at him. “What are you going to do?” Will asked.

“What is it you’re really asking me?” Hannibal replied.

“Are you thinking about going after Alana?”

Hannibal took a deep breath and let it out as a weary sigh. “I keep my promises, Will.”

“Make a new one,” Will said in a tight voice. “Promise me you won’t go after Alana.”

Hannibal gave Will a dark look. “What will you give me if I don’t?”

Will drove the knife down and stopped it just over Hannibal’s hand where it was spread flat on the counter. Its point quivered just millimeters above delicate skin and tendon. Hannibal never took his eyes from Will’s face. That attention had frightened him, once upon a time, driven him to float on the catwalk on the mezzanine level of Hannibal’s office, his gaze skating past Hannibal’s cheekbones and shoulder. He’d known, even then, that if he allowed himself to like it that he would never stop wanting it.

“You don’t like pain,” said Will.

Hannibal tilted his head almost imperceptibly. “No,” he agreed.

“You accept it, if it’s from me,” said Will. “Maybe you even like it, if it’s from me.”

Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered. “What are you offering me?”

Will’s arm was getting tired. He put the knife down on the counter next to Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal broke eye contact then, to glance at the knife, and Will put his hand on Hannibal’s jaw. That surprised him; now that they weren’t changing each other’s bandages or helping each other in and out of bed, Will touched Hannibal with increasing rareness. Will wasn’t sure he’d ever touched Hannibal’s face before.

“There are means of influence other than violence,” Will said, and kissed him.


	27. Dreaming (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [If you're still taking prompts... The first time Will says "I love you" to Hannibal and Hannibal being undoubtedly and hilariously verklempt.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/tagged/prompted)

_I love you_ , Will said in his ear, and then they hit the water.

 _No_ , Hannibal wanted to say, but the sea tore them apart. _No, no, you cannot do this to me._ His mouth filled with salt water instead of words. He couldn’t see Will. Everything was dark and wild. They say that nature is trying to kill you, but they could not be more wrong: nature doesn’t even see that you’re there.

“Hannibal.”

Hannibal clawed his way out of the ocean gradually, salt in his wounds and his eyes.

“Hannibal.”

Hannibal opened his eyes. He could still hear the sea, but it beat against aluminum instead of his bones. He smelled Will’s sweat and felt his heat, curled against him in this small place in the dark.

“You’re crying,” Will said. Hannibal blinked. Will’s fingers brushed against his face. His voice was filled with wonder. “I didn’t think you cried. What were you dreaming about?”

Hannibal seized Will’s hand and held it against his chest. “Never mind that.”


	28. Whoever Does the Laundry (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Request: Hannibal making Will laugh, either intentionally or no.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131470127352/request-hannibal-making-will-laugh-either)

“Oh, there you are,” Will said, and then stopped.

Hannibal looked up. “Yes?”

Will was leaning against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on Hannibal’s arms. “What are you doing?”

Hannibal looked down at his hands, and then at the table. “I’m folding towels.”

And then, much to Hannibal’s surprise, Will laughed.

It was the first time Hannibal had heard Will laugh since that first giddy burst of nervous shock and excitement, when they were both still sodden with seawater but sprawled on dry land. Perhaps he hadn’t heard Will laugh--really, truly laugh--since that first breakfast together, when Hannibal had called him fine china.

“Sorry, I just,” Will slumped against the doorframe and wiped the corners of his eyes, “I never pictured you folding laundry like a normal person.”

Hannibal finished folding his current towel and stacked it on top of the others. “Would you like to help?”

“Sure.” 

Will rolled up his sleeves and took his place next to Hannibal. Hannibal noticed that Will first watched Hannibal fold a towel, and then mimicked his actions precisely.

“You know,” Will said, “they say that whoever does the laundry first, after the wedding, is going to end up doing the laundry for the rest of the marriage.”

Hannibal wasn’t aware that his expression had changed, but Will laughed again. That, he supposed, was all right.


	29. Ulterior Motives (Jack & Will friendship)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Could I prompt you for Jack dadding Will](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131490795987/could-i-prompt-you-for-jack-dadding-will-and-by)? And by that I mean stuff like him growing through Will's kitchen and being like 'wtf Will go grocery shopping for the love of God' (not the sex kink thing?) and/or maybe something more intense I saw this awesome meta once where they described the scene where Jack unties Will from his prison suit as something with somewhat sexual undertone but the kind you have with a parent who has to undress you (like that awkwardness where you're aware of each other?)

“I brought casserole,” Jack said, holding up the foil-covered dish.

“Are you serious?” Will opened the screen door for him. “You know nobody’s died, right? Well,” he amended, “plenty of people died. But nobody we knew.” Except for Mason Verger, who’d deserved it. But Will didn’t want to go down that thorny path.

“No, more like come back to life,” Jack agreed. “Christ, Will. It was a pretty close thing there. I thought we were going to lose you, a couple of times.”

“Well, you didn’t.” Will poured them both generous glasses of whiskey from a dusty bottle while Jack puttered around in his kitchen, putting the casserole in the oven to warm. It reminded him of someone else who used to do that, and Will knocked back his glass of whiskey and poured himself another. 

“Where are the dogs?” Jack asked when he joined Will at the kitchen table.

“At Alana’s house,” said Will. “She said she’d bring them by this weekend. She and Margot have a lot to take care of right now.”

“No kidding,” said Jack. He took a sip of his whiskey. “Alana Bloom and Margot Verger, huh? Wouldn’t have expected that.”

Will shrugged. “They’ve both been through a lot. They deserve someone who can see them through it.”

Silence crept in through the corners. Will was used to being able to fill gaps in the conversation with his dogs.

“Did you really come all the way out here to bring me a casserole?” said Will.

“You’ve been through a lot, Will,” said Jack. “And I know.” He paused for a moment before continuing, slowly, as if each word had to be taken down from a high shelf and examined before being handed out. “I know Hannibal was your friend.”

“He was,” Will said, and he finished his whiskey.


	30. The Dog (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Request: Hannibal & Will finally get their Dog but the Dog for some reason doesn't like Hannibal & always interrupts them and Hannibal is jealous of the Dog :D](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131571083642/request-hannibal-will-finally-get-their-dog-but)

“Why does the dog follow you like that?” Hannibal asked.

“He has a name,” Will said. “You named him, as a matter of fact. Montaigne.”

Montaigne was hardly ever called Montaigne. Will called him “Monty.” Hannibal, when he deigned to recognize Montaigne’s existence at all, referred to him as “the dog.” Montaigne was not allowed in the kitchen, and so he sat in the entryway, watching as Hannibal and Will prepared dinner. Once in a while he got bored and wandered off to investigate some corner of the house that had undoubtedly already been sniffed thirty times that day already, but always he returned.

“He follows you from room to room, like he can’t bear for you to be out of his sight,” said Hannibal.

“Dogs are pack animals,” Will said as he chopped celery. “He thinks of me as his leader, and he goes where I go. I don’t have any way of telling him that I’m just going to the bathroom, and that I’ll be right back.”

Montaigne was always watching Will. Even when the three of them were sitting quietly in the living room, Montaigne would curl up in his bed with his head between his paws and his eyes fixed. If they slipped closed in slumber, he would startle awake at the slightest movement, ready to leap to his feet and go where Will went. It made Hannibal feel as if he and Will were never truly alone, not even when they went to bed together and closed the door against the dog.

“Why are you asking?” Will asked. “You haven’t suddenly taken an interest in dog behavior.”

Hannibal swept his diced carrots into the bowl with the rest of the mirepoix. “Curiosity.”

Will put down his knife and cocked his head at Hannibal. “Are you jealous of Monty?” Hannibal opened his mouth to reject such nonsense when Will went on, “No; you’d never be jealous of a dog. You’re upset because he reminds you of someone.”

Hannibal’s hand tightened around the knife. “Don’t go there,” he warned.

“He’s not the only one who can’t let me out of his sight,” said Will. He reached out and took the knife from Hannibal’s fingers so that he could wrap his hand around Hannibal’s and squeeze. “It’s okay, Hannibal. It goes both ways.”


	31. Keeping Promises (Hannibal/Will, Alana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDK if you're still taking prompts, but I'm gonna put this out there: Ever since having the Verger Baby (seriously, what is that kid's name???), Alana has found herself thinking of Abigail. This somehow leads to her entertaining [nightmare scenarios in which Hannibal comes to finally make good on his promise](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131647378297/idk-if-youre-still-taking-prompts-but-im-gonna) \- and take away her and Margot's son. Even worse: Hannibal AND Will forming a nice little Murder Fam 2.0 with the little guy. "I spun you gold", and all that~

“Did I ever tell you that I made Alana a promise?” Hannibal said thoughtfully, later that night.

“You have the worst ideas about pillow talk,” Will sighed, eyes closed.

“When she came to my house in Baltimore, with that gun that you gave her,” Hannibal said. “I told her to be blind, not to be brave. But she chose to be brave, and for that, I said, I had to kill her.”

Will opened his eyes. “You didn’t kill her,” he pointed out.

“It was delayed,” Hannibal acknowledged. “But I never failed to remind her of this, when I had the chance.”

Which would have been every day, or almost, when Hannibal was in the BSHCI. Will propped his chin up on the back of his hand, over Hannibal’s right pectoral muscle, and said, “You are _not_ going to kill Alana.”

Hannibal gave the impression of smiling at the ceiling. “Somewhere in the world, Alana and Margot lie together much like this. But their dreams are interrupted by nightmares; sometimes, perhaps, Alana wakes in the middle of the night certain that she hears a sound in the attic. She investigates, but she never finds anything.”

Will could imagine this very clearly: Alana lying awake, her heart in her throat, startling awake at nightmares about her son spirited away by a demon, to be raised as a monster. Alana, sleeping with a gun in the nightstand. Alana taking her son to the playground, to daycare, to school, not daring to blink in case his hand slipped from hers. And Margot, helpless and wracked with the knowledge that her wife’s fears were not unfounded.

“Her hair will grow gray,” Hannibal said dreamily. “The stress will eat away at her stomach and make her nervous and snappish. It will cause cancers to grow in her body. She and Margot will fight, and then they will weep. She will grow old before her time, and she will never know a moment’s peace for the rest of her days. I’ll have killed her as surely as if I’d broken her neck myself.”

Will stared at Hannibal in horror. “What happened to you, to make you this way?” he wondered.

“Nothing happened,” Hannibal replied, stroking his fingers through Will’s hair. “I happened.”


	32. The Power to Revolutionize the World (Utena crossover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Revolutionary Girl Utena au?](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/131967606612/revolutionary-girl-utena-au)

“Have you seen the new home economics teacher?”

“It’s strange, isn’t it, to have a man as the home economics teacher?”

“But he’s a very good cook, and very good at sewing.”

“Maybe this is the new kind of man we have to look forward to!”

Giggling, giggling. Utena, who had always been terrible at both cooking and sewing, paid little attention.

He was foreign, with pale skin, light-colored hair and a smile that never quite reached his eyes. His Japanese was perfect. That and his youth surprised Utena; she was poor at telling people’s ages, especially foreigners, but he seemed hardly old enough to be out of high school himself.

“Ah,” he said to her in class that day. “You’ll cut off your fingers that way. Hold it with your knuckles, like this, and move the scallions under the knife, rather than the other way around. Yes, like that. Perfect.” He tilted his head. “That’s a beautiful ring you have.”

Utena looked down at her hand, as if she didn’t know the rose crest was still there. “Thank you. It was a gift.”

“I have one very like it.” He showed her his fine-boned hand, and she sucked in a breath: his ring was identical to hers, but with a black rose crest instead of pink. “I’ll see you in the arena tonight.”

Utena burned her curry.

—–

She ascended to the dueling arena with a burning in her empty stomach. When she arrived at the top, the home economics teacher was already there--how did they always beat her there?--laying a black vinyl record on a gramophone. Classical music began to pipe through the golden horn, singers warbling in a language Utena didn’t understand.

“It’s important to set the mood,” he explained, before turning to face her. He was dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit with a golden shirt, complete with pocket square. Did he intend to fight like that?

The student desks around them were littered with porcelain shards. Utena could identify a handle among them. Cups?

“Now,” he said, drawing his sword. “The Rose Bride, if you please.”

“What do you want her for?” Utena shouted, the back of her neck prickling.

“Why does anyone?” said Lecter-sensei. “I want the power to revolutionize the world; to make the teacup come back together.”


	33. Dancing Lessons (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Hannibal and Will dancing prompt?](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/132065542372/hannibal-and-will-dancing-prompt)

“No.” Will remained planted in his chair.

“Will,” Hannibal said, patiently. “Do you honestly believe that Alana will not ask you to dance at this wedding? Or Beverly?”

“I’ll say no,” Will mumbled. Alana would respect that, but Beverly wouldn’t. Beverly would tease him and drag him onto the floor. He sighed and heaved himself to his feet.

Hannibal looked satisfied. “Give me your right hand.” Will did as he was instructed; Hannibal’s palm was warm and dry against his sweaty one. “I will lead first, so that you can see how it is done,” Hannibal said, and that was all the warning that Will got when Hannibal’s other arm closed in, his hand on the back of Will’s shoulder. He’d never been this close to Hannibal before and everything about his presence was overwhelming. “Be sure that your hand is on her shoulder blade, like so, and not at her waist or back. That is how you lead. Now, we’ll begin with a simple box step. My left foot will go forward, and your right foot will go back. You mirror my movements.”

Mirroring: that was easy. Will knew how to do that. He let Hannibal’s voice fade into a background drone: back, to the side, bring feet together, shift weight. Forward, to the side, bring feet together, shift weight. He relaxed. It was easy to let Hannibal carry him along. He didn’t even have to watch Hannibal’s feet anymore, but then he didn’t know where to look, so he kept his eyes down.

“You’re very good at this,” Hannibal said warmly. “I hope you’ll watch your partner, however, and not her feet.”

“Eye contact,” Will muttered.

“Not your strongest point, I know. Now that you know how it’s done, it’s time for you to lead.” Hannibal disentangled their hands.

“Um,” Will said. Hannibal took up Will’s left hand and guided Will’s right to the back of his shoulder. “Very good. I’m probably quite a bit taller than anyone you’ll dance with at the wedding, but you have the principle. Now: left foot first.”

It felt strange to no longer be following Hannibal, like everything was backward, and Will stumbled trying to go forward again instead of back. But Hannibal held him up and waited as Will recollected himself, and said, “Relax, Will, it’s all right” when Will stammered apologies. They tried again, and this time Will made it through an entire box without fucking up. And then another one. By the fourth box, he had relaxed enough that Hannibal evidently felt comfortable humming.

Will laughed. “Is that a waltz?”

“It’s easier with music, isn’t it?” said Hannibal.

“I don’t think they’re going to play any waltzes at the wedding.”

“A pity.”

“I wish you were coming,” said Will. “To this wedding.”

“Perhaps another time,” said Hannibal. “Now: the triple step.”


	34. A Very Elementary Halloween (Will + Beverly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This one is a combination of two prompts: one for an Elementary AU and one for a Halloween fic.](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/132157703077/cmon-said-beverly-cmon-cmon-cmon)

“C’mon,” said Beverly.  “C’mon c’mon c’mon.  You’ve  _gotta_  come to the Halloween party!”

“No,” Will sighed.

“It’s gonna be great!” said Beverly.  “Price and Zee are going as Bert and Ernie.  Jack and Bella are gonna be there, they always do a great couples costume, last year it was Morticia and Gomez Addams.”

“I don’t have a costume,” Will said.

“You just gotta be creative!” said Beverly.  “You can always just wear some old clothes you don’t like anymore and splatter them with fake blood, boom, instant Halloween costume.”

Will winced.  “Nothing with fake blood, thanks.”

“Okay, fair.”  Beverly nodded and, to Will’s horror, threw open his closet and began rummaging through it.  “There’s gotta be  _something_  in here we can use…”  She pulled out a red and black plaid scarf that Will hadn’t even known he had and said, “A HA!  THE GAME IS AFOOT!”

“What?” said Will.

“You and I are going as Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson.  It’s perfect, you already have the scruffy look down pat.”  Beverly started shoving aside hangers.

“ _Joan_  Watson?” said Will.  “Isn’t it supposed to be, um, James Watson?”

“John Watson, oh my God, you are so bad at this, and don’t you watch TV?  She’s a woman on the TV show  _Elementary_.  Played by Lucy Liu,” Beverly added pointedly.  “Representing the Asian ladies.  Do you have a striped button-down shirt?  And a vest?  Oh, wait, there’s a vest here, but it’s the wrong kind.  Hmmm…maybe we could get Dr. Lecter to loan you a vest…”

“Um,” said Will.

“Do you think we could get Alana to dress up as Moriarty?” said Beverly.  “She could wear a blond wig.”

“ _Moriarty_?” said Will.  “They made him a woman too?”

“It’s the 21st century, man!  Get with the times.”

“You know,” said Will.  “I really thought you were just here to drop off some files.”

“Ha!  As if!”  Beverly tossed a few potential shirts onto Will’s hair and knelt to molest Winston’s ruff.  “I’m actually just here to see the dogs.”


	35. Dom/sub AU (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Long prompt is long](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/132613881737/wintry-mix-coloredink): Will and Hannibal have been anonymously sceneing with each other at a BDSM club for months before they actually meet in the show.

“Congratulations: You are totally functional and more or less sane.”

Will peered over the edge of the railing and frowned.  Dr. Lecter--and it was still  _so weird_  to think of Sir as having a  _name_  beyond just Sir--beamed up at him, his fingers still on a piece of cream-colored paper on his desk.  “Did you just rubber stamp me?”

“Yes,” Sir--Dr. Lecter--replied.  “Now Jack Crawford may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn’t break you, and our conversation can proceed unobstructed by paperwork.”

Will retreated back toward the bookshelves, running his fingers over the spines without taking in the words.  “Jack thinks I need therapy.”

“What you need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there,” Dr. Lecter’s words floated up from below.  His voice sharpened.  “Get down here, boy.”

Will almost fell down the ladder.

He was breathing hard by the time he made it to where Sir was standing, his hands in his pockets.  Will crashed to his knees, hands on his thighs and his head bowed.  He listened to the rush of blood in his ears as his stomach turned over.  Had he been quick enough?  Had he interpreted--

Sir’s fingers descended into Will’s hair, and he let his breath out as all the tension in his body dissipated.

“Good boy,” Sir said, and Will closed his eyes and smiled.

They continued like that for a few moments, Sir carding through Will’s curls, scratching lightly at his scalp.  Will pressed his face against Sir’s thigh and sighed.

“We were playing together on Fridays, were we not?” Sir asked at last.

Will nodded, then thought better of it and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Shall we move them to Thursdays, then?” said Sir.  “At this time.  Once a week, as before.”

7:30 on Thursdays.  Fine.  Worked for Will.  “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

“We will meet here,” said Sir.  “It will be therapy--or, since you have an aversion to that word, ’conversations.’”  The petting stopped.  “We will not use a safeword.”

Will stopped breathing.

“If there is trust between us, then there is no need for a safeword,” said Sir.  “It is my responsibility to be aware of your state and know when you need to stop.  Have I made myself clear, boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” Will said, his mouth dry.

“Good.”  Sir let go of Will’s hair and stepped away.  Will fought the impulse to look up.  “Get up.  Undress.  We’ll begin now.”


	36. You Were Late (Hannibal/Will, Murder Husbands)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Another long prompt is long](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/132645567702/bloodstainedlovers-ok-but-im-imagining-a): Post-S3, Hannibal throws a massive sad fit after Will is late to an appointment.

“You’ll be home for dinner?” Hannibal asked.

“Of course,” Will said, tugging on his coat.  “Seven-thirty, right?”

That was before he witnessed the car accident.  No one seemed too badly hurt, but Will perhaps had different standards for “badly hurt.”  There was some blood, some broken glass, some crying; emergency services were called.  Nobody’s life appeared to be in danger.  Will might have merrily continued on his way to the rare book store where he had an appointment with the dealer about Hannibal’s anniversary gift, but one of the women was so badly shaken by the ordeal that she seemed to have forgotten her Spanish, and Will was the only person in their godforsaken little village that knew English.  Well, him and Hannibal, but Hannibal wasn’t here.

“My dog!” she kept crying.  “My dog!  My dog!”

Will didn’t see any dog--but that was the problem.  The dog had jumped or been thrown from the car in the accident and now was nowhere to be seen.  Will couldn’t very leave a woman  _and_  a dog in distress, now could he?  The paramedics at last persuaded the woman to go with them, but she begged Will to find her dog.  He was small, white, fluffy; his name was George.  Okay, okay, Will assured her; he’d find her dog.  

Will searched the side of the road each way for a mile; he asked bystanders and passersby if any of them had seen a small white dog, possibly injured; he even hiked partway out into the vineyards.  The sun was setting; Will had missed his appointment with the book dealer, and he’d left his cell phone at home again.  He trudged back to the site of the accident to find that both cars had been pushed off to the side of the road, and a small white dog sitting in the drivers seat of one of them.

“George, I presume?” Will said wearily.

The dog cocked his head at Will.  He was dirty and dusty but didn’t seem otherwise harmed.

Will walked home with George tucked under his arm like a book.  When he got there, the front door swung open under his touch.  Will stopped breathing and put the dog down.  George remained close at his ankles as Will stepped into the foyer.

The lights were off, but even without them Will could see that art hung crooked on the walls; an end table had been overturned, flinging a small vase of flowers to the ground; shards of porcelain crunched under Will’s shoes.  Will’s hand tightened around his keys.  God; had something happened to Hannibal?  Had they been found, or--

But there was music.

Will followed it to the living room, where he could just make out Hannibal’s shape, sitting in the dark and listening to something that Will vaguely recognized as Mozart.  “Hannibal?”  He switched on the light.

Hannibal looked up.  His hair was disheveled and his sleeves rolled up, but he didn’t look like he’d been in a fight.  One of the chairs had been overturned, and the glass coffee table had a giant crack running down one side of it.  Hannibal’s keys lay on the coffee table, next to a knife.

“Will.”  Hannibal rose to his feet.  He went to Will and wrapped his arms around his shoulders and clutched him tight.  Will brought his arms up automatically.  “You were late.”

“Sorry,” Will said.  “I--”  George came trotting in at that moment, his collar jingling.  “There was an incident.  We’re not keeping him.”

Hannibal gave a dry laugh, which petered out with a suddenness that made Will’s stomach twist.  “I thought you’d left.”

“I couldn’t leave without you,” Will answered, looking at the keys, at the knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the-winnowing-wind wrote a [POV reversal](http://the-winnowing-wind.tumblr.com/post/132646805499/coloredink-bloodstainedlovers-ok-but-im)!


	37. Vegetarian (Verger-Bloom Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Could you write something with the Verger-Bloom family, post-s3?](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/133146434127/could-you-write-something-with-the-verger-bloom)

“Mama,” said Morgan, “I’ve decided I want to be a vegetarian, like Mommy.”

Margot put down her fork and exchanged glances with Alana, who put down hers.

“Is that okay?” said Morgan.

“Of course that’s fine,” said Margot.  “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“No,” said Morgan.  “It just makes me feel bad.”

“Okay,” said Margot.  “You’ll understand that I still need to eat meat, right?  People don’t want to buy pigs from someone who doesn’t eat them herself, and we need to sell the pigs in order to pay for things.”

“I understand,” said Morgan.  “May I be excused?  I’m done with my supper.”

Margot glanced at his plate, which had been cleaned of most of its mashed potatoes and carrots, and even the little pork cutlet.  Morgan was always a very considerate child.  “Yes you may.  Don’t run!” she added, and she heard his little feet skid and slow to a fast walk as the seven-year-old made his way to the living room.

“Ugh.”  Margot brought one hand to her forehead.  “I think he likes you better than me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Alana as she cut through her grilled eggplant.

“He wants to be like you,” said Margot.

“He’s becoming a conscientious eater,” said Alana.  “He has empathy.  We should be glad.”


	38. He Misses the Dogs (Hannibal+Molly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Hannibal hunting down Molly to get Will's dogs back](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/166510714792/hannibal-hunting-down-molly-to-get-wills-dogs)

She was walking the dogs along the beach, as she often did; and the dogs were running to and fro and investigating other people’s dogs and other people, as they often did. She thought nothing of it when she came across Winston getting his ears scratched by a stranger sitting on a large piece of driftwood. Then she looked again, harder; this was no stranger.

She was a stranger to him, maybe; they had never met in person, and he had probably never seen her face. His hair was longer than in the photographs, and he had a beard. He smiled down at Winston as he tousled the dog’s fur. He was wearing a salmon polo shirt and loose linen trousers. He looked more like someone’s grandfather than anything else, not the serial killer that she knew him to be.

 _Maybe he doesn’t know who I am_ , she thought, but that was dispelled when the man said, without looking up, “Hello, Molly. You look well. Florida suits you.”

“Thank you,” she said, proud of the way her voice didn’t tremble. She had moved to Sugarloaf Key because it was the opposite of Moosehead Lake in many ways, especially in the winter. She’d cut her hair, gotten a tan and a new job as a park ranger. 

She was glad Walter was still at school.

Hannibal looked up at her now. There was no malice in his eyes, but she knew that didn’t mean anything. Hannibal Lecter didn’t need hatred or malice to do what he did.

“How’s Will?” she asked, hoping it was a neutral question.

Hannibal tilted his head. “He’s been better,” he said, and Molly blinked furiously at that. “He misses the dogs,” Hannibal went on.

“Oh.”

Hannibal looked back down at Winston. “He doesn’t say so,” he said. “We have a few of our own, now. But I think he misses the past.”

Molly swallowed. “We gave a lot of them away,” she said. “It was hard, keeping up with so many dogs. With Will. Gone.”

Hannibal nodded as if this made sense to him. She hoped it did. “How many are left?”

“Just three.” Walter had brought home a puppy the other day, but Molly didn’t mention that. The puppy wasn’t with her at the beach.

Winston looked up at Hannibal with large, solemn eyes. He had a lot of white around his muzzle these days. The vet had guessed that Winston was close to ten years old. He was good, well-behaved, no reactivity, just a little bit of separation anxiety. Molly should have given him away. But she hadn’t. Maybe she’d been saving him for this moment and hadn’t known.

Hannibal tightened his hand in Winston’s ruff. “I’ll take this one.”

“Okay,” Molly said.

Hannibal stood up. He walked away. Winston followed him without looking back. Molly didn’t watch them go; she turned and walked the other way.


	39. So Beautiful (Fae!Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [i wish you would write a Fae!Will au. Just imagine Hanni finding and taking care of a wounded wild wood creature Will](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/166516275687/i-wish-you-would-write-a-faewill-au-just-imagine)

Hannibal had gone into the woods looking for mushrooms. He had not gone far before he came across a young man sitting beneath a tree with his leg stretched out before him in a manner that indicated he was in some pain. Hannibal slowed his stride.

“Hello,” said Hannibal. “Are you in distress?”

“Yes,” said the young man. “I’m afraid I’ve injured my leg, and now I can’t walk very far.”

“That’s a problem,” said Hannibal. “These woods are not safe to be in after dark.”

“I know,” said the young man. He was really very beautiful, with curling dark hair and blue eyes. Of course, he wasn’t really a man at all. Even if Hannibal had not seen him before, he would have been able to tell he was one of the Fae. It was that unconcerned manner, even alone and injured in the woods with night coming on; it was a coldness in the eyes. Hannibal knew well that cold and wild stare. And he was so beautiful.

Hannibal gave it up as a lost cause. “Come,” he said. “I’m a doctor. I’ll look after you.”

So they went back to the village together, the idea of mushrooms abandoned, and Hannibal took the young man to his cottage. His ankle really was injured, and Hannibal bandaged it up with a poultice to ease the swelling and invited the young man to stay the night; he had an extra bed in the cottage for those patients who needed overnight observation. “You should really stay off it as much as possible,” Hannibal said.

“Thank you,” the young man said.

Hannibal woke in the middle of the night to find the young man standing over his bed, his eyes glowing in the darkness like a cat’s. He was not surprised; he had a knife under his pillow for this reason. He lashed out with it in the dark and struck nothing, much to his satisfaction. He felt a strong grip around his wrist. They wrestled; Hannibal heard a dog or a wolf howling outside. His heart beat fast and strong and he felt like laughing.

At last, the young man had Hannibal pinned to the floor with the knife through his hand, and Hannibal stared up at him giddy and light-headed as a girl in the first flush of love.

“You knew me,” said Will.

“Of course I did,” said Hannibal. “Although I’m surprised you still live. Have you come to forgive me?”

“I have,” said Will. “And I think,” and here he leaned down to whisper in Hannibal’s ear, “that it’s about time you came to dine at _my_ table.”


	40. The Dragon's Bride (Reba+Freddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Can I ask for some Reba fic?](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/166525952857/can-i-ask-for-some-reba-fic)

Reba did not go back to work in the darkroom. There were too many memories there now, and besides, she knew that people looked at her strangely. She did not have to be able to see them to know that. She felt it in the quality of their silences.

She went back to work at the school. That work comforted her, though she no longer felt herself very qualified to help others navigate the world. She hadn’t turned out to be very good at it, after all. But the people there were so grateful. They called her “Ms. McClane,” and there were no careful, awkward silences. She took the bus home at the end of the day, and she learned the bus drivers on her route: Mr. Drummond, Mrs. Green, sometimes Miss Camacho. They learned her too, and her stops.

Someone else learned her stops, and one day Reba came home to find someone waiting on her doorstep. She almost didn’t know she was there–she wasn’t used to people waiting on her doorstep–but someone cleared her throat before Reba’s key made it to her lock.

“Reba McClane?” said the stranger. A woman.

“Yes?” Reba turned her face in the direction of the voice, letting herself frown.

“I’m Freddie Lounds,” said the woman. “You’ll invite me in, won’t you? Awful cold out here.”

“I don’t know that I will,” said Reba. She palmed her key and slipped it back in her pocket. “What is it you want?”

“I want to tell your story.” Lounds sounded very earnest. 

Reba had learned to be suspicious of earnestness. “No thank you,” she said. “I can tell my own story, if I like, and I don’t like to. No one needs to know it.”

“Are you sure?” said Lounds. “You could make a lot of money.”

“That doesn’t interest me.”

“Make it about the truth, then,” said Lounds. “You know what they’re calling you, right? The Dragon’s Bride.”

That explained those silences at the film processor. “That was a while ago. I know how these things work, Ms. Lounds: something else comes up and people get distracted by the next shiny thing. Seems to me you were late getting here. Everyone’s forgotten about The Dragon’s Bride by now.”

Lounds sighed. “All right, you got me. I was chasing some other leads, they didn’t pan out, and now I’m here sniffing around for a book deal. Which I’m sure you’ve gotten from others.”

Maybe she had, but Reba wouldn’t know. She hadn’t been picking up her phone. Who would be calling?

Reba got her key back out. “I’ve decided you can come inside after all.”

“Well, that’s neighborly of you,” Lounds said after a brief pause. “What changed your mind?”

The door creaked open, and Reba stepped inside. “You’re honest, and you don’t pity me. I can’t abide pity.”


	41. Zangoose v. Seviper (Pokemon AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Pokemon au!!](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/166547072572/pokemon-au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ref: [this fanart](http://feredir.tumblr.com/post/54969817165/and-all-the-fannibals-and-tumblrites-will-look-up) by feredir

Mona started growling and pounding on the inside of the ball as soon as Will neared the door to the catacombs. The air smelled like blood. It had been a long time since Will had smelled that, had felt slick dead flesh beneath his hands like this. He was almost glad to leave it behind him for the wet, moldy smell of the catacombs.

The snarling and scrabbling grew louder as Will descended into the deep, candlelit dark. Will didn’t want to let her out here, like this; what if she disappeared into the maze and never came out again?

He took a deep breath. “Hannibal,” he called out into the dripping dark. “I forgive you.” 

He waited and counted his breaths. Mona continued to whine and rattle the ball. Will tapped the button.

Mona came somersaulting out. She landed on her feet, catlike, and bolted down one of the hallways. Will followed her, his breath loud in his ears. Was that a hiss, somewhere down in the corridors? Was that another set of footsteps?

Will rounded a corner and Orochi was there, flashing out of the darkness and coiling around Mona, biting her with his fangs. Mona yelped and bit down hard. The two creatures rolled across the damp floor in a whirl of fur and scales. Will balled his hands into fists. “Hannibal!” he yelled out again, his voice echoing. “Didn’t you want to see what would happen?”

He held his breath. Hannibal wouldn’t abandon his Pokémon to die down here, wouldn’t he? He counted his breaths again, trying to ignore Mona’s grunts and Orochi’s hisses.

Finally, finally, Hannibal stepped out of the shadows. He looked at Orochi and Mona, at first, and not at Will. But after a moment he lifted his eyes.

“You once promised me a reckoning,” Hannibal said. He looked sad, and Will cursed that that expression still had the power to wring him.

“I did,” Will said, and he brought out the knife.


	42. Give Her To the Dragon (Dolarhyde)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Something with dolarhyde?](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/166558663572/something-with-dolarhyde)

He put on his movies that night as he usually did, and he sat on the sofa and parted his legs beneath his kimono, as he usually did. The silk was so soft and luxurious against his skin that he could pretend it was someone else sliding against him as he took his cock in his hand. But the silk was cool where someone else’s skin would be warm. He knew what that felt like now, because he’d lain with Reba, and she had been so warm, almost hot.

His breath hitched. Reba. His eyes slid shut. He could see her again, hovering above him. So warm and alive and smiling for him, at him, because of what he did to her. She looked at him without fear. She looked at him with joy. That wasn’t the sun she was clothed in at all, but love: love for him.

 _Francis_ , the Dragon snarled in his ear. _Francis, you aren’t paying attention_.

His eyes snapped open. The pictures played in front of him as they usually did: dead families with their staring eyes filled with mirrors. They reflected the camera back at him. But he didn’t want to look at them; he wanted to look at Reba.

He wanted Reba to come back.

Maybe she would come back tomorrow?

 _How DARE you_ , the Dragon roared. Francis jumped in his seat. His cock began to soften in his hand, and he worked it some more, his bottom lip between his teeth, hoping the Dragon hadn’t noticed. _Is she more important than me?_ the Dragon sneered.

“No,” Francis whispered. He kept his eyes fixed on the film now as he worked himself, his other hand down below cupping his balls. The pleasure was thin and mechanical. “No, no, of course not. You are the Dragon.”

_That’s right. I am the Dragon. I possess you and make you powerful._

“Yes.” He was getting hard again. Francis kept his eyes on the pictures, but he thought of Reba. Reba’s mouth around him–

_So you will give her to me._

His hand stopped. “No,” he whimpered.

_YES!_

“Please, no, no, please don’t make me.” Francis curled in on himself, his hand cupped around his dick. It was getting soft again, like himself, soft and shrinking.

 _You worm!_ the Dragon howled; its breath was humid against the back of Francis’ neck. _You filthy little ant! You can’t deny me anything!_

“I can’t, I can’t,” Francis agreed.

_So you’ll give her to me then._

“Yes,” Francis wept. “Yes, yes, I will, you can have her, she’s yours.”

_That’s right. Because what’s yours is mine._

“Yes yes yes yes yes.” Francis rocked back and forth in his seat. The pictures kept playing, flickering one after the other. And then he was alone in the dark again, just him and the Dragon and the pictures, just like it had always been before.


	43. Taking Advantage (Hannibal/Will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Hi! I really love your verse where Will just wants to cuddle with Hannibal and not have sex. Is there any chance you could write a bit more of that?](https://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/166561252477/hi-i-really-love-your-verse-where-will-just-wants)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Installment 1](https://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/130001053822/please-can-i-ask-you-for-some-hannigram-fic-recs), [Installment 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5454473/chapters/12609197)

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” Will said, and even as he said it he felt the foolishness of the statement squarely between the eyes. Him, taking advantage of _Hannibal Lecter_. Was that even possible?

But he did feel that way, lying here in the berth with Hannibal’s arms wrapped around him, his head tucked just below Hannibal’s chin, on Hannibal’s bare chest. And it was easier to say it now, perhaps, because it was dark, because he couldn’t see Hannibal’s face, because he could feel and smell Hannibal all around him, because it felt like they were the last two people in the world, after the flood.

“What makes you say that?” Hannibal asked, and it was like they were back in his office, all those years ago, facing each other across the carpet. They hadn’t touched each other then. Not yet.

“You probably want,” Will mumbled his way through the last part of the sentence as if Hannibal wouldn’t be able to hear it. 

But Hannibal, of course, heard everything, including the things that Will hadn’t said. His arms tightened around Will, and he carded his fingers through Will’s hair. “Oh, Will. What makes you think this isn’t what I want?”

“You always want more,” Will muttered. “You’ve always pushed.”

“And when have you ever cared what I wanted?”

Hannibal said it like it was a joke, but Will frowned. He tried to push up, to look at Hannibal, but Hannibal kept him where he was. “Is that what you think?”

“You’ve never given me reason to think any different.”

Will pushed harder, and this time Hannibal’s arms relented and Will was able to look up at him, one hand braced over Hannibal’s heart. Hannibal’s gaze was steady but opaque; troubling, because since the fall and the subsequent clawing back to life Hannibal’s expression had frequently been raw and open, flayed like the bloody heart he’d once left for Will in the middle of a church.

“I care,” Will said. He made his hand into a fist and brought it down gently on Hannibal’s chest, just a tap, really. “I don’t always want what you want–I often don’t want what you want–but I care. That you want it. If I didn’t care, I.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I wouldn’t be here. You, _you’re_ the one who’s never cared what I wanted. I wanted peace, I wanted normalcy, and you–”

Hannibal took Will’s hand in his. “Enough.” 

He squeezed Will’s hand, and Will bowed his head. He felt Hannibal’s other hand cradle the back of his head and press him back down, until Will had resumed the position they’d begun in.

“For now, we want the same thing,” Hannibal said. “That’s enough.”


	44. Survive (Bedelia+Abigail)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd very much like to read something with Abigail and Bedelia. More specifically, [Abigail survives the red dinner and Bedelia joins her and Hannibal on their little adventure](https://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/166616280937/so-i-know-youre-incredibly-busy-have-other), in Will's place.

“Come,” Dr. Du Maurier said, and Abigail didn’t have anything better to do, so she went.

She didn’t know how Dr. Du Maurier walked in those heels. She didn’t ask where they were going, and Dr. Du Maurier didn’t seem inclined to inform her. In fact, they didn’t speak at all, and Dr. Du Maurier did not so much as glance back to see if Abigail was following. They crossed the Santa Trinita Bridge, passing the tourists lined at its edges without so much as a glance. Once on the other side, Dr. Du Maurier went down a little side street and opened a door. It took Abigail a moment to realize that Dr. Du Maurier was holding the door for her.

The funk coming out of the little shop was intense, and Abigail wasn’t sure she wanted to go inside. But Dr. Du Maurier was waiting, and though her expression was patient Abigail didn’t think she would take kindly to rebellion. So Abigail went in, trying to breathe through her mouth.

The cramped little store was–well, Abigail thought of them as “Hannibal stores.” As long as she’d known him, Hannibal had never gone to brightly lit supermarkets with their ordered aisles. He went to farmers markets for produce and little specialty markets for dry goods, even if it meant he went to four different places instead of one. This store was piled high with cheese, a lot of which wasn’t even refrigerated. Bundles of salami and sausages hung from the ceiling, and dusty bottles of wine sat in rows behind the counter. No wonder this store smelled like feet.

“Abigail? I asked if you’d like anything.”

It had the sound of something that had been repeated more than once, and Abigail jumped. Dr. Du Maurier was standing at the counter, looking at her expectantly.

“Um, no,” said Abigail. “I don’t even know what any of this stuff is.”

“Hmmm.”

The elderly proprietor shuffled back into view them, holding two bottles of wine, which he put in a box. Next, he used a pair of small tongs to retrieve a rocky lump–which Abigail now knew was a truffle–from underneath a glass dome. He put the truffle in a small paper bag.

Dr. Du Maurier murmured something to him in Italian. The old man bobbed his head and–using a different pair of tongs, thank goodness–picked up a few small objects from underneath a different glass dome and dropped them into a small parchment pouch. Dr. Du Maurier paid for everything with an eye-watering amount of cash. She gave the parchment pouch and the truffle to Abigail to hold, and they left the store.

“The spinach puffs are for you,” Dr. Du Maurier said, once they were outside the store and away from that godawful stink.

Abigail peered inside the pouch. Inside were four little golden pastry shells, filled with creamy green stuff. She fished one of them out and popped it into her mouth. The pastry was perfectly flaky and buttery, and the green stuff turned out to not just be spinach but cheese. What kind of cheese she didn’t know, but it was salty and strong and super, super good. Abigail couldn’t help the noise that came out of her. When she looked up, Dr. Du Maurier was actually smiling.

“Why did you bring me here?” Abigail blurted out.

Dr. Du Maurier tilted her head. “Did you enjoy it?”

God, she talked just like Hannibal, answering questions with more questions. Abigail crammed another pastry in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I didn’t not like it, I guess.”

Dr. Du Maurier nodded, and they made their way across the bridge again. Abigail realized she didn’t actually want to go back. Hannibal would be there, probably, and he and Dr. Du Maurier would have one of their weird, elliptical conversations, and probably Hannibal would play the harpsichord.

“The traumatized are unpredictable because we know we can survive,” Dr. Du Maurier said. “I told Will Graham that, once.”

Abigail couldn’t help the involuntary jerk of her shoulders; no one had said that name since they’d left the States. But she knew he’d survived. She’d seen the pictures on Tattlecrime.

“I believe you intend to survive,” Dr. Du Maurier went on. “But so far, you’ve been very predictable.”

Abigail swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Transform the experience,” said Dr. Du Maurier, and she did not say anything more for the rest of the walk.


	45. The New Challenger (Hannibal, Will, Jack, AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [If you ever have the time or energy to spend on that "Will as the Rose Bride" thing, I really would love to see it.](https://coloredink.tumblr.com/post/166624780317/if-you-ever-have-the-time-or-energy-to-spend-on)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover/fusion with Revolutionary Girl Utena.

He glimpsed the boy in the yard behind the school. He had dark, curly hair and fair skin, and he was playing with several dogs that had gathered around him on the grass. No, not playing; Hannibal had assumed it was play, because he saw a boy surrounded by dogs, but the boy was kneeling and giving serious inspection to one of the dogs’ paws. The dogs were clearly strays, skinny, with matted fur. The boy’s school uniform fit well enough, but it was creased and unkempt in a way that indicated he didn’t much care that he was wearing it.

Alana came to lean against the railing next to Hannibal. “Who’s that?” Hannibal asked.

“That’s Will Graham,” said Alana. “I’m surprised you don’t know him. He’s well known among certain circles.”

Hannibal looked at Alana and saw a certain resigned affection in her face. “Our circles?”

“Mmm. He’s on the Student Council, you know.”

Someone else came stalking up to Will Graham now. He was big even for a senior. Hannibal knew him only by reputation: Jack Crawford, also on the Student Council. They were too far away to make out what Jack was saying to Will, just that Jack was raising his voice. Will bowed his head and hunched his shoulders. Hannibal frowned.

“Hannibal,” Alana said warningly, but it was too late. Hannibal leapt the rail and strode across the grass toward Jack and Will, his hands in his pockets in studied nonchalance.

“Is something wrong with the dog?” he said to Will, bending down a little. Will just looked up at Hannibal with large eyes and a stubborn set to his mouth. “I’m studying medicine,” Hannibal offered. “Human medicine, but I’m sure it can apply to dogs as well.”

“She hurt her paw somehow and it’s gotten infected,” Will said in a low voice. “I was going to take her back to my room and keep her there for a few days.”

“Ah,” said Hannibal. “Do you have any antibiotic ointment? I–”

“What the hell,” Jack barked.

Hannibal looked up as if he’d only just noticed Jack was there. Jack’s expression was thunderous. “Why, hello Jack.”

“We were having a private conversation,” Jack said through his teeth.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see a sign,” Hannibal said mildly.

Jack looked as if he’d like to let Hannibal know what he thought of that with some force, but then he straightened up and smiled. “You must be the new challenger.”

Hannibal lifted his eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

Jack gestured to Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal looked down at it and saw nothing unusual. He was wearing the ring Mischa had given him years ago.

“I’ll see you in the woods after school, then.” Jack jerked his head toward the place in question. “Don’t be late.”

Hannibal watched as Jack swaggered away. “What was that about?” he wondered.

“If you don’t know, then it’s already too late,” Will muttered. He picked up the little dog and sloped off in the opposite direction from Jack. Hannibal shrugged and went on to class.

**Author's Note:**

> [coloredink.tumblr.com](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [sumiwrites.wordpress.com](https://sumiwrites.wordpress.com/) (if you wanna see the books I've written)


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